


Vincit

by Emma_Oz



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Oz/pseuds/Emma_Oz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie is motivated to impress Jeeves. Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vincit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tetsubinatu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tetsubinatu/gifts).



> Word count: 3500ish  
> Notes: Jeeves/Wooster. Absolutely nothing explicit. 
> 
> This fic is a Yuletide gift for tetsubinatu. I fear that this fic makes Bertie as thick as Charles Biffy Biffin. Nonetheless, please accept my Yuletide offering with best wishes.

It was always a pleasure to arrive at Brinkley Court and I bounded up the steps full of vim and vigour. Little did I know that what lay before me – what mad pursuit, what struggle to escape, what wild ecstasy, what thingummy. But I get ahead of myself.  


 Aunt Dahlia gave a hearty yell as I hove into view. Thanks to a youth spent encouraging hounds in the pursuit of foxes, she had a voice that could penetrate pure concrete. The words ‘There you are, you young blot on the landscape!’ echoed through the halls.  


 ‘Hello to you too, esteemed aunt,’ I replied, ‘And how are things?’  


 ‘Fairish. Tom’s digestion is playing up again, poor lamb.’  


 I offered my condolences, knowing that his digestion is as temperamental as a baby with croup. The least little thing, like, say, a lobster newburg, could set him off.  


‘And that’s hard lines for me, of course, because I was about to touch him for another top up for Milady’s Boudoir.’  


 I nodded sympathetically. Aunt Dahlia’s magazine, Milady’s Boudoir, was rarely solvent and lurched from one financial crisis to another, buoyed only by cash injections from Uncle Tom. ‘Still, you mentioned in your invitation that he had a pal staying. That should cheer him up.’  


 Aunt Dahlia brightened. ‘Yes, Edwin Lurcher is a terrible old bore but there’s nothing Tom likes better than to natter about the City and high finance deals, so the two of them are as happy as larks.’  


 ‘Wonderful to hear,’ I replied. The conversation turned to this and that, a necktie Jeeves had not let me keep and an art show he had dragged me too. I left not realising how prominently Lurcher would feature in my future.  
 

***  
 

Dinner was a quiet affaire, and not just because those present were savouring the fare of Anatole, Aunt Dahlia’s French cook. He is God’s gift to the gastric juices and he had provided Poularde truffée aux perles noires du Périgord and cognac fillets with beurre blanc.  
 

Still, the faces around the table did not present their cheeriest aspect. Aunt Dahlia was brooding still on Milady’s Boudoire’s financial woes, and Uncle Tom was nursing his indigestion. If I tell you I saw him reluctantly wave away the sole meuniére it gives some idea of the state of his tum.  
 He seemed happier when he talked to his pal Lurcher who confined his remarks to incomprehensible comments about the gold 

standard and complaints about the iniquities of the current taxation system. Uncle Tom ate this stuff up, of course, so at least they were happy. Lurcher was a large man, shaped somewhat like a bull dog who had been enlarged to the size of an elephant and learned to wear black tie and talk about the latest in the Times.  
 

The Rev Harold Stinker Pinker and Stiffy Byng were visiting which would usually have made the meal pass with a swing. But between them there was what can only be called a rift. They did not present that impression of cheery oneness which a chap looks for in another chap and his fiancé. At one point she snorted when he knocked over the wine, and it was a snort which was meant to wound.  
 

To round out the company, Pop Lurcher had a couple of females in tow. One of those elderly cousins by marriage who are so useful at pouring out tea, and his daughter Gwendoline who had just returned from Swiss finishing school. Gwendoline seemed to me to be a nice enough egg, though one cursed with an embarrassingly Victorian name. Still, the name suited her. You felt that, given a sporting chance, she’d recline on a sofa.  


 A moment’s conversation with her proved her to be a particularly deadly form of soppy. A comment about the weather was met with her response that the sunset was reminded her of the Blessed Damozel leaning over the gold bar of heaven. I could see that at the drop of a hat she would start reciting Keats, so I hastily changed the subject to where the good money was in the forthcoming Market Snodbury under-14s egg and spoon race.  
 

Stiffy mentioned the difficulties in keeping choirboys to a training schedule for such events. They tend to break out and feast on sweetmeats inopportunely. But when Stinker tried to contribute an anecdote, she squashed him and the dinner party limped on silently.  


 I retreated to my room - I wanted to have a word with Jeeves. He could decipher the strange currents I detected at the dinner table, and, in any case, I wanted a chat with him. That’s the worst of country house living – no cozy discourses of this and that with Jeeves of an evening.  


 He was waiting for me, full of gossip. The word in the servants’ quarters was that Stinker had been seen taking a moonlit stroll with Gwendoline and Stiffy was hopping mad about it. ‘Apparently, sir, as they walked, Mr Pinker recited some few lines of Tennyson.’  


 I can’t deny I was surprised. What kind of fool talks of poetry by moonlight to a young woman who is not his intended? But I retained my faith in Stinker’s devotion to Stephanie. He is, after all, a member of the church and probably didn’t realise how this kind of behaviour could be interpreted. Naïve, that’s the word. Foolhardy, even.  
 

‘It wasn’t that business about bats was it?’  


 ‘Come into the garden, Maud, for the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; and the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown.’  


 It’s always a pleasure listening to Jeeves when he completes a quote, pleasant voice and all that. ‘Pretty fruity stuff,’ I said.  


I saw at once that there was an opening for a friend who could gently reconcile the parties. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’m off to be a soothing ear for Stinker to pour into or a shoulder for Stiffy to cry onto or whatever is required.’  


 I ankled off to the billiards room where I found Stiffy belting the balls around with more vigour than was strictly necessary. I had barely a chance to enter the room, much less to offer the s. for purposes of crying on, when she leapt into a diatribe about Gwendoline.  


 ‘Do you know what that rat in human form did?’ Stiffy demanded.  


 Before I could utter a word she went on. ‘She went for a walk with Harold after dinner last night. Actually went for a walk with him.’ Stiffy snorted. ‘To view the stars, if you will believe.’  
 

A young woman of spirit does not like to feel slighted. Jeeves has a whiz about jealousy being a poison sharper than the mad dog’s tooth. Or something like that.  
 

I’d been in Oxford with Stinker and I knew that the tooth of jealousy was in this case completely without foundation.  


‘Rest assured,’ I said to Stiffy with what may have been a shade too much avuncularity, ‘Stinker’s heart is yours alone. He could never care for another.’  


 Stiffy said stiffly that I needn’t sound so pompous and that of course she had no concerns about Stinker’s heart. ‘It’s that rat Gwendoline,’ she added, ‘She’s after him, if she can get him.’  
 

Stiffy’s position did not seem absolutely sound to me, but before I could point out the inconsistencies she uttered words which struck ice into my heart. ‘Not to worry,’ she said, ‘I’ve got a plan.’  


 I was silent in horror, knowing that Stiffy was capable of literally anything. She is full of dash and has more bounce to the ounce than any ten average beazels. She was the sort of girl who would set of a firecracker at a glass factory, just to see what would happen.  


 Ignoring my silence, Stiffy expounded her dreadful plan. In short, she intended to purloin one of my uncle’s beloved silver objet d’arte and frame Gwendoline as little more than a light-fingered kleptomaniac. Uncle Tom, for those not in the know, has an inexplicable fondness for silverware and is never happier than when talking of sconces and foliation and gadroon borders. Some of his collection is worth a fairish bit - I should know, I was sent off once to collar a silver cow creamer. A long story, and one I won’t go into now; but the memory of being branded a silver cow creamer thief was a vivid one, and it caused a swell of fellow feeling towards poor Gwendoline.  


 ‘I say,’ I said.  


 ‘It’s brilliant!’ Stiffy said as she performed a kind of a war dance.  


 ‘It’s not cricket,’ I protested.  


 ‘Cricket, shmicket,’ Stiffy replied, which is the sort of thing that is very hard to think of a reply to. By the time I had formulated a response - ‘Says you!’ - she had bounced out of the room, no doubt off to put her plan into action.  
 

A Wooster is always a preux chevalier, and it was clear I would have to intervene. And, for once, I had thought of a solution all by myself.  


 ***  
 

I appraised Jeeves of the dreadful revenge about to be wreaked by Stiffy. ‘She plans to paint Gwendoline as a disreputable underworld figure making off with one of Uncle Tom’s monstrosities. She’s planting it in her room this very night. But I intend to stop her.’  
 

I outlined my plan which was simplicity itself. I would simply wait for Stiffy to plant the item and then slip in and retrieve it. ‘I know what it is to be the patsy when some of Uncle Tom’s silver goes missing,’ I said with feeling. ‘Never again!’  
 Jeeves gave one of his sheep-like coughs, the sort that indicates that he thinks the young master is being a bit of an idiot. ‘How will you explain your presence should the young lady awake?’  


 ‘Why should she awake?’  


 ‘As an alternative, I would suggest that the presence of a female in the young lady’s room would be less open to misinterpretation. I could prevail on one of the housemaids to -’  
 

I waved the suggestion aside. I was going to show Jeeves I could rescue Gwendoline on my own, and at least one soul could go through life without knowing what it is to be branded a sneak thief. Either a chevalier is preux or he is not preux.  


 ***  
 

I waited 'til well into the early hours to make my move. I kept myself awake by contemplating how jolly impressed Jeeves would be when I returned with the goods. I was used to looking to him with admiration, but this time perhaps he would gaze on the young master with the same fondness… same fond admiration.  
 

About three-ish seemed the right time for a daring raid. I set off with a high heart and at first things seemed to be going well.  


 I ankled into the room, and it was but the work of a moment to locate the item. Stiffy had hidden it on top of the wardrobe, which is where anyone hiding an object in a country house with efficient servants would hide something they didn’t want found. It was another of Uncle Tom’s monstrosities, a sort of a wrestler fellow, wearing a lion skin and holding a globe wrapped in a sash. No doubt it had eighteenth-century foliation and sconces coming out its ears.  
 

As I searched, Gwendoline had uttered only one or two lady-like snuffles and had not so much as rolled over in the old sack. I began to retreat and actually managed to get through the door and ooze into the hall before things began to unravel. As I sidled out, somehow or other the silver wrestler slipped from my dressing gown pocket and fell to the ground.  
 

The sound was like the beating of a hundred dinner gongs and I was astonished that one little object could make such a noise. I realised that, as it fell, it had somehow knocked over some shoes Gwendoline had put out to be polished. I bent to straighten the mess out and as I did there was a muffled squawk from my rear.  


 One glance over my shoulder showed me the worst: it was Pop Lurcher staring at me with a loathing I’ve rarely seen. And I have several Aunts who know a thing or two about l. stares.  
 I realised that Jeeves was right and there was no possible explanation I could give for being found in this position, and it occurred 

to me that the thing to do was to vamoose. I hit the floor running.  
 

I don’t know if you’ve ever attended a small boy’s preparatory school in the south of England, but one of the things one learns is the art of evading wrathful masters while out of bounds. The key is momentum. One must maintain momentum.  
 

So, with a swiftness which could not be emulated by those not trained in boyhood, I grasped Gwendoline’s door handle once more and plunged into the room, this time with no thought of silence. It was a largish room but she had only time to mutter a stifled inquiry and raise a startled head before I was across the room and at the window. A surprised face gaped at me as I sprinted past.  


It took a moment or so to unjam the window which was a trifle gummed up. Nevertheless I had it ungummed and was sliding a leg over the sill when Pop Lurcher bounded into the room, much like a determined and oversized blood hound. He gave a wordless growl, again much like a blood hound, and leapt towards me, but it was the work of a moment to swing out the window and find the drain pipe. After that, I shimmied down with enthusiasm and sprinted around the corner.  
 

At that point, the momentum escaped me. I could still hear wrathful exclamations from above and it sounded as though Pop Lurcher was raising the whole household. I could definitely hear Stiffy’s laughter amidst Gwendoline’s squeaks. That made a return to my room problematic yet no other solution presented itself.  


 I decided my best bet was to look for Jeeves, when, like a particularly welcome cuckoo clock, he popped into sight. Even more welcome to my eyes, Jeeves was driving the motor. ‘I took the liberty, sir, of packing your bags,’ he said. ‘Time for a quick exit, what?’  


 ‘It would seem to be indicated.’  


 I jumped into the roadster and threw the wretched statue into the rear. The sounds of pursuit were drawing nearer.

‘Onward,’ I said, and we made our getaway.

***  


 Back home, we had an early breakfast and I idly examined the statue. In the sunlight, I could see more details. The fellow held a club in one hand which did not seem quite the thing for a wrestler. Still, I imagine in the ancient world one took what help one could. Around the sash there was a Latin inscription.  


 ‘We got it away despite some hiccups in the execution of the plan,’ I said, ‘Gwendoline is safe.’  
 

Jeeves raised an eyebrow. ‘I had wondered, sir, if you might have formed an attachment to the young lady. You seemed very intent on protecting her.’  


 I was startled and raised an eyebrow back at him. We looked like two startled eggs goggling at each other. ‘Good Lord, no!’ I said hurriedly. ‘She’s a very nice girl, I’m sure, but no. It was more – more… what’s the psychology of the individual, Jeeves?’  


 Jeeves made a suggestion. ‘Perhaps you perceived something of yourself in the young lady? I noticed that she had a gentle character, not as assertive as, for instance, Miss Byng.’  
 

There are major generals who are not as assertive as Stiffy Byng but I brushed this point aside. I mulled the idea over. ‘I did feel strongly about it. But it was not so much protecting her that motivated me, as proving to you that I could do it.’  
 

‘You wanted to impress me, sir?’  


 ‘I suppose I did.’  
 

Jeeves shot me a look which mingled approval and some other emotion I could not put a finger on. He leaned towards me but just then there was a thundering on the door. A thundering like a portent of a changed world.  


 Said portent came in the form of Pop Lurcher who burst into the room with an angry gleam in his eye.  
 

‘You snake!’ he shouted as he stormed towards me, nostrils flaring in a manner calculated to chill the marrow. ‘Have you nothing to say for yourself, you filthy viper?’  


 I’d had just about enough of the reptile motif, especially coming from a man who himself resembled a particularly large and vicious dog, possibly one slathering at the mouth. You can push a Wooster only so far, so I responded with a cool curl of the otherwise stiff upper lip. ‘I suppose you are referring to last night?’  


 ‘You suppose correctly, sirrah! You can of course not deny that you were caught virtually red handed, creeping into the bedroom of a young girl with deceit and depravity written all over your foolish face.’  


 ‘I cannot deny that – what?’  


 ‘My Gwendoline, a delicate flower on the cusp of womanhood, was saved from your machinations only by providence allowing me to see you slip into her room.’

‘I say, that’s not –‘  


 ‘Foul seducer, I have come to demand satisfaction!’ He drew himself up to his full height, approximately eight feet six inches, and wagged an accusatory finger under my nose. He reminded me strongly of the Hound of the Baskervilles, only much more frightening.  


 Much as I had disliked being compared to a snake while believing I was being castigated for breaking into Gwendonline’s room to take the silver wrestler, I realised now that it was far, far worse to be sirrah-ed while being accused of breaking into Gwendoline’s room to tamper with her virtue. I gestured at the statue, still sitting on the side table, and ventured a feeble ‘But –' which served to enflame him further.  
 

And at that moment, like a mother lion rushing to the defense of a hapless cub, Jeeves hove into view. ‘If I may, sir,’ he said, neatly stepping between Pop Lurcher and me, ‘I believe you may be under a misapprehension as to Mister Wooster’s motives.’  
 

He drew Lurcher aside and began a swift, low voiced exposition. Lurcher shot me a glance of pure loathing but let Jeeves continue, gradually paying more and more attention to him.  


 I was fairly agog myself, unable to imagine how even Jeeves could save the day, but I could hear only a few words here and there. Wild behaviour, a reference to what had to be the Junior Ganymede club and an inverted something or other.  
 Lurcher shuddered with disgust. ‘I can scarcely believe such depravity!’  


 ‘In these circumstances you see that Mr Wooster was merely mistaken as to the door he entered. There was certainly no assignation with Miss Lurcher.’  


 ‘Naturally not,’ her father replied.  
 

‘I believe he may have been searching for your door,’ Jeeves continued. Lurcher leapt away from me like a startled deer.  
 

One moment he was straining at Jeeves’ leash, waiting to rush over a metaphorically bite me. The next, he was virtually beating a tattoo at the door to leave. Dashed if I know how Jeeves does it.  
 

Upon Jeeves’ return from showing him out - and good riddance - I was agog to learn how he had gotten rid of the vile Lurcher. 

‘I am agog,’ I said, ‘to learn how you got rid of that vile man.’  


 ‘I assured Mr Lurcher that he was under a misapprehension as to your intentions and that you are not that way inclined.’  


 ‘Of course I am not inclined to ravish defenseless maidens in their sleep, but I can’t see how you changed his mind. He certainly wasn’t listening to me.’  
 

A faint strain appeared on Jeeves’ usually imperturbable features, and he explained to me that he had told Lurcher that I was less the sort of chap who ravished defenseless maidens and more the sort of chap who entertains notions of being ravished in the nicest possible way by other chaps.  


 It took me a moment to understand what Jeeves was saying. ‘I had no idea,’ I said.  


 ‘I did not intend to cast aspersions –‘ Jeeves began but I cut him off with an imperious wave of the hand.  
 

‘I had no idea,’ I continued, ‘that anyone other than me felt that way. Thinking that chaps were just the ticket, you know. I didn’t know there was a club.’  


 Jeeves ventured to say that quite a few men felt that way and perhaps even some ladies might prefer the company of other ladies. I thought for a moment. ‘Is there an actual club?’  


 ‘Not to the best of my knowledge.’  
 

‘But it is possible other people feel the way I do. So the best way to find out if they feel the same way, is to –.’  I flung my arms around him and kissed him.  


 For a moment he did not respond, but then heavenly choirs began to sing as Jeeves reciprocated the kiss with interest, if such a thing is possible. It certainly felt like the warmest, kindest, most exciting kiss of all time. I think what happened next is best envisioned as they do at the movies, with fireworks and a glimpse of the happy lovers, followed by a fade out. Except that it was a dashed sight more exciting than any movie climax I have ever seen.  
 

After some breathless time I found myself lying on the couch, covered in a solid layer of gentleman’s personal gentleman and feeling tickety-boo. I peeked across Jeeves’ broad shoulders and saw that the silver statue had at some point fallen from the table. It now lay on the disarranged rug, and I could just read the words on the tag the wrestler held: AMOR VINCIT OMNIA.


End file.
